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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353222">Midnight Wine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klyse16/pseuds/Klyse16'>Klyse16</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Bellatrix Lestrange - Freeform, Depression, Engaged Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, F/M, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Malfoy Manor (Harry Potter), Mentioned Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, Mentioned Rodolphus Lestrange, One Shot, PTSD, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War flashbacks, Wine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:13:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klyse16/pseuds/Klyse16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Draco are engaged, and she's moved into the Manor. Their relationship is smooth, but her midnight glass of wine often leads her to memories of the war that he's tied to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Midnight Wine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: Content warning - PTSD. <br/>Please be kind, this is my first publish. Much love!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the tenth night in a row that she felt like this.</p><p>Or maybe it was the twentieth. Or the thirtieth. Or the one hundredth. It didn’t matter.</p><p>In complete honesty, she couldn’t remember the last time that she didn’t feel like this.</p><p>Hermione stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night for the who knows how many nights in a row to grab the bottle of wine that laid in the wine rack that they kept in kitchen of The Manor. After so many repetitions, she had managed to remember to select something that she enjoyed from the cellar before heading to bed. It had been so many years, but the cellar reminded her of a time she’d been spending so many hours trying to drown out. </p><p>A small rush of cool air ran through the kitchen and hardened her vision. She looked across the kitchen and through the living room, and directly to the door that she knew lead into the drawing room. Her blood hardened. </p><p>This was a reality that she’d been living with for a while. But she was Hermione Jean Granger, and this was something that she was supposed to be healing from. One third of the golden trio that saved the world. The brightest witch of her age. One of the many that testified for the pardoning of Draco Lucius Malfoy. The mudblood that ruined his blood status forever.  </p><p>But years had passed since the end of the war and this was a reality that she was living with every night. She’d been through every therapist the war relief society could offer her. She either stopped showing up or had a session terrifying enough that they didn’t want to see her again. So, this was her reality now. A reality of laying in her bed every night, listening to her blonde fiancé breathe rhythmically in sleep, and herself ultimately padding down the hardwood stairs that led to the kitchen, and drowning her feelings with red wine until she could ultimately fall into a strange mix of sleep and unconsciousness. </p><p>She’s cutting the foil of the bottle when a rustle from behind her caused her to jump almost completely out of her skin. She whipped around suddenly, wand out in front of her and the bottle opener clattering to the floor. It was nothing. Just a branch. Nothing. Just the wind. </p><p>She wasn’t really watching as the merlot she had selected earlier that evening filled the glass almost entirely to the brim. Far beyond what any Malfoy would consider classy. Far beyond what the purchaser of the glass had intended it be used for. She leaned back against the counted and sipped a mouthful, a small amount of stress rolling off of her body. She thought about how many parties, meetings, important guests this glass had seen. After all, it had been in his family for years. </p><p>And then a horrifying thought crossed through her mind. </p><p>What if she had poured into this exact glass? She imagined Bellatrix Lestrange as a young adult, attending the Manor Christmas party the first Christmas after her sister was married. Sipping cabernet and telling embarrassing anecdotes about the Malfoy’s newest daughter in law. Charming extended family members with her blood status and her new ranks among Voldemort’s new and rising regime. Maybe even dropping that she was more successful than Lucius from time to time, more trusted. Gushing over being on the right side of the uprising. </p><p>Hermione’s mind fogged over as she swirled wine glass lightly and let notes fill her nose. She takes the first sip. </p><p>Her mind couldn’t let the vision go. Bellatrix Black standing next to Narcissa on her wedding day, and Narcissa standing next to Bellatrix on hers. Bellatrix Lestrange pledging herself to Lord Voldemort and dragging her unsuspecting husband along for the ride. Bellatrix Lestrange committing murder after murder, torture after torture. Bellatrix Lestrange escaping from Azkaban while she lay unsuspecting in her bed in Gryffindor tower. Bellatrix Lestrange murdering her cousin. Bellatrix Lestrange on the Astronomy Tower the night Dumbledore died. Bellatrix cold eyes and hot breath in her face as pain overtook every other sense. Bellatrix Lestrange branding her with a scar that would never fade. </p><p>Her scar felt like it weighed a ton. </p><p>The glass dropped immediately from her hand, shattering against the pristine kitchen floors and splattering up onto the cabinets. Liquid that hardly looked any blacker than any of the kitchen in the dark, seeping into the cracks between the flooring. </p><p>It looked like blood. </p><p>He came flying down the stairs from the bedroom before she even really started screaming. </p><p>His arms were around her before her knees hit the floor, before the satin material of her pajamas began to absorb the spilled liquid. </p><p>“’Mione, ‘Mione stop it’s okay. Shh you’re safe. Everything’s fine, honey come back to bed,” he whispered into her ear, fighting to keep her dead weight off of the floor. She wasn’t even sure how he got down here that fast, where he came from. She didn’t care.</p><p>“No. No. No. NO. Get the fuck off me,” Those were the only words that could leave her mouth. Over and over, louder and louder, breaking free of Draco’s firm grasp and falling the rest of the way to the floor. Her knees were laying in broken glass, drops of wine mixing with the blood that had been drawn. She didn’t care, she couldn’t feel it. Draco reached his arm out to help her off the floor, but she rounded on him almost immediately, her gaze so hard but so frightened at the same time. She drew her wand.</p><p>“Hermione, no, it’s okay, she’s not here. You are safe,” he shouted, but it was too late. </p><p>The cabinets flew open and all of a sudden everything was flying out. China, dinnerware, wine glasses, silverware, bowls, plates, even the Malfoy family gravy boat. Every last piece that Hermione could think of that Bellatrix Lestrange might have touched with the same fingers that ruined her life, her skin, her mind. All onto the floor, into thousands of pieces. </p><p>She had no control left. Cabinet doors flew off of their hinges and every unsuspecting item from the counter joined the shards on the floor. </p><p>She turned around and pointed her wand directly at Draco. His hands were up, no wand in safe. “Hermione, it’s safe. You’re safe, come back to me please.” She could see the fear in eyes no matter how calm and collected he was trying to be. He was scared of her. </p><p>She broke in that moment. </p><p>She crumpled down into the pile of broken glass, half screaming half sobbing. Broken shards were piercing every part of her skin. </p><p>“I can’t- “she cried over and over again. “I can’t get her out of my head, everything she’s touched. Everything they’ve all touched. I don’t belong here,” she finished as a heavy sob wracked through her chest. Tears were rolling down her face and she lay in the puddle on the floor, defeated and exhausted. Her sleeve was rolled up, furiously tracing the scar on her arm. ‘M. U. D. B. L. O. O. D.’ Over and over again, frantically and hard enough that the skin was turning red and raised with friction. All of a sudden, the tracing went to clawing, and blood raised from the broken areas of skin. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, not even the first time this month. Draco reached down toward her, grabbing her arm. It was loving but firm, and she stopped immediately, her tear-filled brown eyes looking up to meet his exhausted gray. Her arms relaxed and her head slumped into his chest. Her eyes closed immediately. </p><p>Draco’s arms closed around Hermione’s body, lifting her up from the floor and carrying her up the stairs. He led her into the bathroom and started the shower, the temperature he knew she preferred. She never opened her eyes, but removed her ruined pajamas and stepped inside, rinsing the mixture of blood and wine from her skin. She lifted her head toward the stream of water, closing her eyes and let herself feel as if her distress roll off of her body with the drops of water. </p><p>By the time Hermione exited the shower, Draco was asleep, sprawled out on top of the covers and still wearing his dressing gown. That thought was comforting. She sat down softly on her side of the bed, but Draco quickly bolted awake.</p><p>“I’m here, I’m here, I’m awake,” he said, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to get them to focus. </p><p>“Shh love, you’re alright. Go back to sleep,” Hermione told him, charming her hair dry and tying it into a knot on the top of her head. </p><p>“I’m going to owl tomorrow. It’s time I get help, for real this time,” she said softly.</p><p>Draco turned to look at the beautiful woman in his bed. With all they have been through, from school to the war to trying to get back to a normal life, nothing that she said surprised him anymore. He had always been there for her, when she would let him, but her mental health after the war was something that she’d been keeping very private. </p><p>“It’s time, I’m ready, and I’m serious this time.”</p><p>Draco smiled softly. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair as she laid down onto his chest and nuzzled into his neck. Even after everything in the last couple of months, this was where she felt safest.</p><p>Draco laid quietly in the master bedroom of the manner, listening to the wind blow outside and the rhythmic breathing of the woman who loved him. He thought of how brave she was, and how proud he was of her. Because she was Hermione Jean Granger, one third of the golden trio, the brains behind the defeat of Lord Voldemort, and the brightest witch of her age. </p><p>And she was strong enough to handle anything that life threw at her, especially this. </p><p>The mess didn’t matter, it could be dealt with in the morning.</p>
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